


A Letter from the Dark

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sad letter Draco will never send (which is sad).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter from the Dark

Dear Ron Weasley,

I don't expect you will ever read this. Perhaps when I am dead it will be discovered amongst my possessions and forwarded to you. If that should happen then, I beg you, do not think too poorly of me for having written this down.

You did not come to school this year. At the welcoming feast I scanned the Great Hall, looking for the three of you. I kept expecting you to walk into lessons. I found myself, shockingly, missing you.

I missed the fighting. We used to taunt each other, wind each other up to exploding point. I wanted to watch your face turn red and sweaty, see your knuckles whiten round your wand, have flashing eyes bore into mine. Tension builds and I have nobody to relieve it on, nobody who can react the way you do. I want the warmth of your hand on my throat to remind me I'm alive.

Father has been freed from Azkaban. When I watch the way our Master treats him, I think he was safer there. Our home has been taken over. I long to escape to school, but that is now controlled by Death Eaters also, and is little better.

Here I am a slave, and a prisoner as much as Lovegood is. At least she isn't forced to torture people. I should be better at this. It is what I was bred for, trained for: to serve the Dark Lord. I can't stand the blood or the screams. You always said I was a coward.

It should be easy to kill Muggles, especially bound and weak and terrified. However, in spite of the lessons I learnt from babyhood, I find that it is not. I empathise. I'm afraid this is because of your friend Hermione. As much as I hate her – and believe me, I hate her more every year – I cannot deny that she is a person, with feelings, abilities and consciousness.

She is far more likely to survive this war than I am, will probably live into an old age, together with you, in a cosy home, wasting mundane days on domesticity. This is why I hate her. Because that is what I want for myself.

After _Crucio_ , when I lie aching and weak on a stone floor, my mind curls into itself and I picture a happy place. There is a fire, music, softness, warmth and you. As the pain retreats, I paint in details: kissing, laughter. You stroke my back. When I stop hurting, I can think of going further, of our bodies moving together, touching in every place, grinding, thrusting, teasing each other up to exploding point.

I expect to die here, in the place which was once my home, at the hands of the Lord I have been raised to adore. I hope you live. I hope you will be happy and that sometimes you may think of me, perhaps occasionally without hatred,

yours,

Draco Malfoy


End file.
